Critics reviews

Maysles finds subtle grace notes that further serve to psychologise her obsession, yet there's little sense of an unmasking, as her art and self prove so contagiously fused to the joy she finds in ‘play'.

Maysles's film rescues Iris from this relentless exteriorisation, not by intruding on her secret thoughts but by presenting her as a performance artist whose practice is a deliberate and serious aesthetic choice rather than just a piece of batty eccentricity. Twentysomething fashionistas can ah-bless her all they like; Iris is a fully realised piece of work – as is Maysles's portrait of her.

The film isn't biographical in the sense of telling Iris's life story. It's present-tense and impressionistic – a rummage... The director's way with framing and composition hadn't deserted him even at this late stage – every shot is a box of delights.

Unfortunately [the director] provides little insight on how an artist finds inspiration in old age or about the creative process in general. Maysles simply presents lots of other designers telling Apfel how brilliant she is, their testimony interspersed with pithy accounts of her past achievements.

[Aging and mortality] may well have been the true covert subject for the 88 year-old Maysles, and might have been challenging to shoehorn into a more streamlined narrative. This approach leaves Iris a lumpy film, full of weirdly shaped odds and ends, moments that speak to the outsized qualities of Iris's character without necessary pointing back to some larger narrative arc. It also makes Iris a quite human, very Maysles film at heart.

Few documentaries match subject and filmmaker as perfectly as "Iris." Fashion icon Iris Apfel and documentarian Albert Maysles were well on in life when he set out to make a verité portrait of her: she in her early 90s, he in his late 80s. Both were quintessential New York characters with their own senses of style. Each possessed an obvious zest for life as well as a well-developed, self-deprecating sense of humor.

This is the penultimate film of Albert Maysles, who died on March 5, and "Iris" has a bit in common with "Grey Gardens," his masterpiece. Apfel, unlike the Edies of that movie, is sane — so much so that the movie's main flaw is lack of conflict. Iris' marriage to Carl, who turned 100 during filming, is incredibly sweet.

It's not a complex portrait of a subject who reveals new facets over time, but more of a flattering, sometimes repetitive sketch of a friend's unvarying routine. As one of two final films directed by the legendary Albert Maysles (Grey Gardens, Gimme Shelter), Iris may be reflexively praised as a great swan song or put under undue scrutiny, but it's a happily modest movie that, while frequently edging toward boredom, is never actively off-putting.

There are few better ways right now to spend 80 movie minutes than to see "Iris," a delightful eye-opener about life, love, statement eyeglasses, bracelets the size of tricycle tires and the art of making the grandest of entrances. Directed by Albert Maysles, this is a documentary about a very different kind of woman who holds your imagination from the moment she appears.

Iris is more than just a movie about an amusing lady who likes clothes an awful lot. It's also a celebration of the revivifying power of creativity, whether we're painting a companion piece to the Sistine Chapel ceiling or deciding what color pocket square to wear in the morning... Iris is a wonderful parting shot. It's also very quietly moving, considering that it's not about growing old, but about already being there.

Apfel's travel planning resembles producing, her gathering is like filming, and her juxtapositions are akin to editing... [Maysles] captures the jovial dynamic and mounting worries of her sixty-plus years of marriage to Carl Apfel, now a centenarian. Her sharp, unfiltered aphorisms make the movie a glittering trove of wisdom.

Director Albert Maysles emphasizes these transcendent qualities in Iris, allowing them to reach a cinematic blossom. The documentary is a celebration of redemptive totemic obsession. The filmmaker captures the comfort that clothes, toys, and other objects tangibly bring to a clotheshorse, thusly negating much of the snide elitism that often infuses reporting based on fashion figures.